


Phoenix Protocol

by Tamoline



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Gen, Minor Character Death, None of the Original Cast Feature, Samaritan Wins, With One Exception, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7100977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samaritan prevails, almost completely grinding the human race under its electronic heel, reducing them to cogs in the machine.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>But the fight goes on, in the shadows. And just because one member of the team dies, it doesn't mean the fight is over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoenix Protocol

“Well, this is my stop,” Michelle said, giggling slightly, as they arrived outside her block of apartments.

For a moment, there was that kind of dance between her and Sharon. Did she invite her up, even though it’s their first date, however well it went? Did Sharon *want* her to invite her up, or was she just hoping for a kiss? Or had Michelle completely misread things, and Sharon had only walked her back out of politeness?

And always, in the back of her mind, as doubtless it was in Sharon’s too, was Samaritan paying attention? It wasn’t as though relationships were forbidden - exactly. But at any time she or Sharon could get the message that they and some random man chosen by Samaritan were to pair off and produce a child. Maybe more than one.

No one knew exactly want went into Samaritan’s calculations, but unapproved relationships? Couldn’t be a plus mark in that ledger.

But the magic of the night - of living a little - was worth the risk. Smiling, a little giddy, Michelle closed her eyes - a childish ward against Samaritan; if you closed your eyes, Samaritan couldn’t see through them - leaned in towards Sharon and kissed her.

“Will all citizens please enter their own accommodations as quickly as possible and stay there,” came Samaritan’s cool voice echoing through her implant. “Any visitors should be immediately registered.” Michelle jumped. Was that- Had that semi-illicit kiss been the cause for Samaritan to finally remove her as a malfunction? 

But with a sense of almost dizzying relief, it seemed like Sharon and everyone else on the street had heard it too.

“Until Samaritan brings us together again,” she said, figuring she could could use all the brownie points she could get, and gave Sharon a quick wave, turning to hurry into her building as Sharon started to quickly walk back the way they had come. 

What had caused the alert this time, she wondered as she waited for the elevator. A Glitch, one of those rare people who somehow managed to act against Samaritan before being eliminated? However briefly, she thought dourly. After all, how long could anyone escape when Samaritan could see and hear through anyone’s senses, including their own? Maybe there had been a nearby power outage. Not close enough to affect the local area, but Samaritan was notoriously finicky about such things. Or maybe this was just a drill, a test to see how diligently people complied with Samaritan’s orders, with black marks assigned to anyone who failed to respond quickly enough.

But at least the order hadn’t just been for her, she thought as she entered the elevator, her heart still pounding a little from the jolt. This time, at least. Michelle had always been aware that she was riding the edge of Samaritan’s displeasure. It didn’t help that in school she’d had a tendency to ask too many questions. Not enough to mark her as a malfunction, like some kids in her class had been, but enough to generate a hissing conversation with her mother after a parent-teacher meeting, where she’d been told to stop sticking out so much, to just blend in. At the time, her mother’s anger had stopped her from sticking her hand up in class again. Later, looking back, it had been the fear.

And then there had been her brother. Gone these many years. No one knew why exactly - no one knew what exact parameters went into Samaritan’s weighing of a person - but it was widely believed that association with a malfunction increased your chances of becoming a malfunction in turn. And Michelle, as the sister, was automatically associated with him. It wasn’t as though she was instantly shunned in school after that, but everyone had certainly taken a step back from her, just in case she was next.

The fact that she was bright - another widely believed black mark - didn’t help either. She’d tried to play it safe at college - going into medicine rather than the math that had actually interested her the most. She’d even defied her solitary nature enough to attend out of college gathering enough to fit in, not make her look like and outsider to the ever present watcher. Not going enough to stand out in the other direction had never been a problem of course.

And now here she was, a doctor working quietly at the local hospital to help repair injuries and illnesses. And maybe trying to live a little around the edges. Maybe even trying to a make a difference, however slight, to the people she maintained.

Was that really too much to ask?

She got to her apartment and opened the door, flicked on the light and sank into the chair in the living room.

Would Sharon want to see her again? She thought it had been going well up until the end.

She didn’t know. But she could hope.

“Don’t move,” came a raspy male voice from behind her. “Keep looking forward.”

Her blood froze in her veins. This was it. Samaritan had finally sent someone to correct her.

Anger followed the fear. No. No. No. She wasn’t going to go out like this, as meekly as she’d tried to live. If she was going to be corrected, she’d do her best to be a glitch rather than a mere malfunction. She flung her handbag in the direction of the voice - from inside her bedroom she thought - as hard as she could, ducking below the level of the armchair as she did so. When she wasn’t immediately shot, she used the moment’s grace to slide off the chair onto her feet, then manoeuvre around the living room, trying to keep out of sight of the bedroom, grabbing a knife from the kitchenette as she did so. All the time expecting the bullet that was surely waiting to correct her.

By the time she reached the wall next to the bedroom door, there had still been no sound of movement from within. What was he doing in there?

It didn’t matter. She was still determined to make some kind of difference before she was dismantled.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

She took a breath, then plunged around the corner, knife held high and… kind of juddered to a halt. The man illuminated by the light from the living room was slumped against the bed, dark liquid trickling down from his mouth. He might have had a gun, but it was lying on the ground next to him.

He certainly didn’t look like someone from Corrections, here to eliminate her, despite the weapon.

“Ah well,” he said. “It’s not as though someone seeing me is going to make that much difference at the moment.”

“Who *are* you?” she couldn’t help asking.

“I’m…” he said, then stopped. “Honestly, it’s a little complicated, and really not the main issue here.” He coughed wetly and when he breathed in, he wheezed. Punctured lung was her first thought.

Any proper citizen would at the least back away, leave him until Corrections - undoubtedly summoned as soon as she had laid eyes on him - arrived. A better citizen would grip the knife tighter and finish him off bar instructions to the contrary.

She had never been precisely great at being a good citizen, she thought as she turned the light on and hurried closer to examine him. Sweaty skin paling from yellow to grey, bright red crimson on his lips. Breathing rapid and now that she was closer, the wheezing became more evident. Clothing soaked in fluid - she poked it lightly with a sock she grabbed from the floor - definitely blood.

“As charming as your concern for me is,” the man said after he’d recovered his breath, however temporarily. “It’s also not really the main issue.” He coughed again, longer, more rattling and blood sprayed the front of Michelle’s blouse. This time he didn’t seem to recover his breath as easily.

“Uhuh,” she said distractedly. “Stay there,” she said and ran first to the kitchenette for a pair of scissors and a drinking straw before hitting the bathroom for her first aid kit. She didn’t have a mask, but she did at least have a pack of surgical gloves, so she pulled on a pair before returning.

“Stay still,” she said as she ducked down in front of him, scissors raised.

“Stop,” he said, apparently managing to find the strength to reach up and grip her arm. “Even if you could… Corrections here before you finish… You’ve got to get out of here…”

“What’s the point?” she hissed. “Samaritan can still see through *my* eyes.” The fact that this guy, whoever he was, had gotten this far was proof that he’d somehow managed to disconnect himself from the omnipresent network. She shrugged his hand off and got to work, cutting through the front of his top.

He smiled, his teeth stained blood red. “Always another option. Just have to choose it.”

She peeled the flaps of his top away from his torso. Three punctures to the front - probably GSWs - two to the abdomen and one to the chest. The last was probably responsible for the probable puncture to his lung.

“Really,” she said sarcastically as she placed her ear first to one side of his chest, then the other. The rattling was loudest on the left hand side. Best guess, then. “Because if I saw a better option, I’d choose it just about now.”

She picked up the kitchen knife to make an insertion. Crude, but it’d have to do.

“You only had to ask,” came a female voice through her implant. She jumped, coming far too close to skewering the man for her liking.

What - ? She thought she’d turned her implant off as a matter of course. She checked. She *had*. The only calls she should receive right now were Samaritan’s. And that was not Samaritan’s voice.

“Do you wish to join the resistance?” the voice asked.

“What? Against Samaritan?” she asked stupidly. There *was* a resistance? There *could* be a resistance?

“Yes,” the voice said. “Not to hurry you, but Corrections are almost on the scene. I need your answer now.”

There was really only one answer. She’d already come this far.

“Yes,” she said.

“Good,” the voice said. “Designation: analogue interface. You need to pick up the gun and leave now.”

“I can’t, he,” she gestured at the man, “is in no position to go anywhere.”

“No,” the voice said, sympathetically. “He isn’t. You have a choice. You always have the choice. If you stay here, even with all of my help, there is greater than 99% chance you will both die. If you leave, now, there is a good chance that you will survive.”

She looked the man in the eyes, trapped.

Go, he mouthed.

“For what it’s worth, coming here, even knowing he was dying, was his choice,” said the voice in her implant.

She grabbed the gun and the man nodded, jerking his left hand in the direction to the door to the apartment.

“Go, now,” the voice said.

“Goodbye,” she managed before she followed the instructions of the voice.

As she reached the door, she could hear multiple sets of footsteps coming up the staircase.

“Enter the apartment to your left.”

Michelle followed suit. The door wasn’t locked. No one’s doors had locks anymore. Who needed them, with Samaritan watching over the populace? 

To her relief, the lights were off. Either no one was in, or they were asleep.

“Go to the kitchenette. Open up the cupboard under the sink. Take out the clothesline within.”

People still *had* those? But there it was, just as the voice had said. 

Meanwhile, the footsteps outside had reached the landing. Any moment now, they would doubtless enter her apartment, and…

There was nothing she could do, not now. She concentrated on following the words of the voice inside her head instead.

“Now go to the window. There should be a backpack next to it. Stow the gun inside and put it on. Next…”

* * * * *

“Really?” Michelle whispered for the benefit of the implant. “Down there?”

The voice had managed to guide her out of the immediate area of her apartment, despite the fact that the streets had been deserted apart from Corrections. Somehow, she’d always been in the right place at the right time to avoid them. Not only that, but Samaritan obviously hadn’t guided them towards her. Given the continued communication from the mysterious woman on the other end, her implant was still working.

Whoever the woman was - and she still hadn’t answered that question whenever Michelle had asked her - she had somehow managed to lock Samaritan out of Michelle’s feed.

But that was impossible, right?

But this- this was just taking things a step too far, wasn’t it? The voice was guiding her down the road towards a branch of Corrections. There was no way someone from Corrections wouldn’t see her, and her appearance had surely been circulated when Samaritan had been locked out of Michelle’s eyes.

“Go on,” the voice said. “Trust me.”

The voice had gotten Michelle this far. With a deep breath, she plunged forward, trying to make her gait look as normal as possible, as though she wasn’t a fugitive from Samaritan.

As she walked down the street, a group of black suited personnel marched out of Corrections, guns holstered, but looking alert. Michelle couldn’t help juddering to a halt, certain they were going to arrest or shoot her, but they completely ignored her, got into a car parked in front of the building and drove away.

“How…? Why…?” she muttered when she was able.

“All part of the magic,” the voice said. “For the moment, the safest place for you is the last place they’d think to search. Stop here and enter this building,” she said as Michelle approached the next but one building to Corrections. It looked like another government office.

Mutely, Michelle did so.

“Third floor. Enter the office marked Appropriations.”

The light was on as she did so. Two people - a man with skin only a couple of shades darker than hers and a white woman - looked up from a computer screen as she did so, guns in their hands coming up equally as quickly.

“Who are you?” the woman asked flatly. It wasn’t the woman from the implant.

“Say hello to Finch and Shaw,” the woman on the implant said.

“Hello, Finch and Shaw,” she said uncertainly.

The woman’s aim didn’t waver, her face set like stone, but as the man’s expression flickered between realisation, pain and finally resignation, he lowered his weapon.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Michelle Cox,” she answered meekly.

He shook his head minutely. “We know your name,” he said. How, she thought, but he didn’t give her time to ask that question before asking again, “Who are you?”

“Say root,” the voice from the implant said.

“Root,” she echoed and the man’s shoulder’s slumped.

The woman finally lowered her weapon. “I’m sorry, Shaw,” she said a little roughly.

He twitched a smile. “We all knew it would eventually come to this.”

“So, uh, you’d be Finch?” she said to the woman, who nodded. “What next?”

“That’s up to you,” she said briskly. “By the fact that you’ve reached here, I assume that you don’t want to return to Samaritan’s tender mercies. The other options are that we get you out of New York, somewhere as off the grid as we can manage. Or you join the fight. It’s up to you.” She looked back down towards the screen, either uninterested in Michelle’s answer or already having decided what it’d be.

“Don’t you have anything to say on the matter?” she said to the voice in her head.

“It’s your choice,” she said. “Ultimately, at the end of it all, that’s what we’re all fighting for. For things to be your choice again.”

“I said I’d join,” she said.

“A purely temporary measure, necessary to get you here safely.” The voice softened. “Consider yourself released.”

Michelle swallowed. She knew what her answer should be. She was a doctor. She didn’t belong with these… resistance. She couldn’t shoot a gun or sneak around or persuade anyone of anything.

But she had said that she’d join. A man had died to get her this far. And, maybe, if she’d been part of this cell, or whatever, that man could have come to her instead of bleeding out in a stranger’s apartment.

“Sign me up,” she said trying to sound more brave than she felt.

Finch looked up, a skeptical expression on her face. But before she could say anything, Shaw reached over and touched her on the shoulder.

“It’s her choice,” he said quietly.

“I take it that you don’t have any unexpected experience with guns that isn’t in your file,” she said, not sounding particularly hopeful.

Michelle shook her head.

“Congratulations, you get to be the new Finch,” she said resignedly.

Michelle blinked. “So, Finch actually isn’t your name?”

Finch - the woman - looked at her flatly. “These are the only names you’ll need to know.”

Shaw managed a smile. “Operational security. You’ll get a new identity, but best not to use that name when you’re on the job.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.”

“Your old life is dead,” the old Finch said harshly. “No contacting anyone. No co-workers, no family, no friends. You see anyone you knew, you turn right around and walk away.”

She swallowed. She guessed that she’d known that. That her old life was over. That she’d never be able to see anyone she knew ever again. That it wouldn’t be safe for them, let alone her.

The loss of her family would probably hit her harder later, but for the moment all she could think is that she’d never see where that thing with Sharon would have gone.

She nodded.

“Not that it should be a problem for you,” the old Finch continued. “You’ll doubtless be provided with an identity well away from your old haunts and as Finch you’ll generally be working from whatever base we’re using at the moment.”

“Look on the bright side,” Shaw said, chucking the old Finch’s shoulder. “You’ve been complaining for ages about how being the Finch was cramping your style.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted this,” she said. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “So, who gets to be the new Root?”

Root. That must have been the man who’d died for her.

“Not Reese,” Shaw said definitively. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Um, why not?” Michelle felt compelled to ask.

Shaw spared her a glance. “She’s got a relationship in her cover identity. The rest of us get to have some semblance of an outside life. Roots don’t have to worry about maintaining a permanent cover identity. But they don’t get to have a permanent cover identity.”

That… seemed awfully arbitrary. But presumably there was a reason for that.

“Root is also the person the voice tends to talk to directly,” the old Finch said dryly. “For what that’s worth.”

“The voice over the implant?” Michelle asked.

“The reason I’m guessing you got here,” the old Finch said.

“Who *is* she?”

Shaw shrugged. “As far as I’m aware, nobody knows,” he said. “But whoever she is, she seems to know almost much as Samaritan. And she’s the heart of the resistance.” He looked back towards the old Finch and sighed. “I’ll do it,” he said quietly.

She hesitated. “Rock, paper, scissors you for the honour?”

Shaw chose scissors, the old Finch chose paper. “Looks like it’s me after all,” Shaw - the old Shaw - said. He cracked a grin. “And you get to be Shaw. That should be a sight to see.”

“Very funny,” the old Finch, the new Shaw, said sourly.

Michelle blinked. “So, let me see if I’ve got this correct,” she said, pointing towards the woman, “Shaw?” and the man, “Root.”

“Well done,” Shaw said sardonically.

Root tilted his head slightly. “I’ve got somewhere else to be,” he said, exiting the room past Michelle.

Michelle’s implant beeped to indicate someone was trying to contact her. They didn’t have a number.

“Um,” she said to Fi-Shaw. “Someone’s trying to call me?”

Shaw smiled thinly. “Answer it. Sounds like we’ve got someone to save.”

As she did so, Shaw clapped her on the shoulder roughly. “Welcome to the resistance, Finch.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, too soon to kill Root again, even in effigy? Oops.
> 
> Ironically, the previous few Shaws have given that office the reputation of being the subtle one out of the two active Assets. The new Shaw will undoubtedly change this though.
> 
> In case anyone is interested about why the whole Finch/Reese/Shaw/Root schema - Samaritan already had an existing virus in it which meant it had to ignore the existence of those four people. The Machine just... repurposed that bug after the original holders of the offices died. And, maybe, she's a little sentimental. (The three members of the geek squad are also used in a similar manner, but those covers are much more fragile as they were never expected to be active in the way the main four were, so by necessity those members of the resistance are hidden deep support.)
> 
> And, yes, there are multiple Finch/Reese/Shaw/Root cells in different cities.


End file.
